


Falling in Love with Howard Moon

by rskay



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV), The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Howard's straight in this one, I had no idea how badly everyone wanted Howard and Vince to bum, My First Fanfic, it gets real dark later, then lighter again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rskay/pseuds/rskay
Summary: Meeting the most awkward man in the world ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me.





	1. You're more awkward than me!

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete now! I would love a comment if you're so motivated. This is my first fan fiction and I would love to know if anyone liked it.
> 
> I think it has to be said, I don't own Howard or Vince, or I would be a lot wealthier.

I hate crowds. In fact, I went to the party against my better judgment because my friend just _had_ to get out. Now she was off shagging some eyeliner wearing emo kid half her age and I was hiding in the foyer wishing my Uber would hurry up. I was doing my normal avoid-all-small-talk-as-though-it-were-the-plague routine by standing in the dark when I heard him whispering angrily to his friend. “The hell it’s not, Vince! You fucking… titbox! I can’t think of a more embarrassing thing for you to share with the general public. For fuck’s sake... Do you want to tell them how I once weed in my trousers in the third grade too?”

“I guess I could if you want. Might make a good story… Come on ‘oward, everyone thought I was joking until you reacted like an utter cunt,” Vince said.

“Me acting like a cunt? You the very definition of a cunt, my friend. I ought to beat you about the head and neck with a blunt object.”

 _Their British accents made their argument sound like they were settling down to a game of checkers and not about to break into ‘fisticuffs,’_ I thought.

“Well your blunt object needs to get out more anyway. You are going to get carpal tunnel as much as you lay about beating the bishop.”

I stifled my laugh by slapping a hand over my mouth. I don’t know much about British idioms, but that was pretty obvious. This Vince might be a jerk, but he was kind of funny.

“See, this is not helpful friendly behavior. This is not what you agreed would be happening tonight. This is unhelpful in the extreme.”

“Look, ‘oward, I tell you, there are women who think you being a virgin is hot stuff. Seriously man. You could’ve played it cool like I was just taking the piss but they would’ve been wondering if it was true, secretly thinking about deflowering you. Instead, you stormed out of the room like a complete looney and now everyone knows it was true and they feel sorry for you.”

“Chrissake Vince, is this a pep talk? You are the bloody worst. Really. The worst actual person I know. I would have tea with Judas Goddamn Iscariot before I would you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, mate. I didn’t think you would overreact so badly.”

_Insert awkward silence because you’re being an asshole and you know it, eh Vincey?_

_“_ Really ‘oward, I weren’t trying to make you mad… I’ve got to get back to the party. You’ll be okay here?”

“Just go, alright?”

I peeked around the wall to see a tall lanky man standing at the bottom of the landing barely illuminated by the light coming from upstairs. His friend bounced up the stairs, yelling something obnoxious about the party being able to start again.

Howard ran his hands through his hair and sighed loudly. He turned and walked right toward me. _Oh God,_ I thought. _He’s going to find me skulking in the corner like a weirdo stalker_. I panicked and ran-pranced to the door just in time to open it and pretend to step inside.

“Oh!” I fake-squealed, “I didn’t see you there.” My acting was pathetic.

“Oh, right then, sorry.” Howard looked dejected. I don’t know what made me stop and chat, I guess felt sorry for him, like Vince had said. “Good party?”

“Are you just getting here? I thought I saw you earlier?” He said.

“Yes, er, no. I mean, I stepped out for some air a while back and… didn’t come back in. I’m here with a whorish friend who’s banging some kid upstairs and it made me twitchy. I detest crowds of people I don’t know.”

He smiled tiredly and nodded. “Well, I’m off. Have fun,” he said without enthusiasm.

“Wait. What is your name?” Like I said before, I don’t do small talk, but something about him drew me in. He was not specifically attractive, in fact he was awkward and gawky even though he was somewhere around thirty. He had dark hair, too long to be considered an overgrown short haircut, but not a reasonable long cut either… a weirdly outgrown chili bowl? Hopefully the poor lighting made it appear worse than it really was. He had a mustache. Oh how I hate mustaches. Beards are fine, and beards with mustaches are good too, but stand-alone mustaches are a bit molester-y for my tastes. He was dressed blandly, in various shades of brown. Good grief, he actually wore a sport coat with _elbow patches_.

 “Sorry, so rude of me. My name is Howard, Howard Moon.” He stuck out his hand to shake mine and it seemed to shake just a bit. “And yours?”

 “I’m Lindsay. It’s great to meet you. Your accent is lovely. Where are you from?”

 “Originally from Leeds, I’m here temporarily for work and my mate Vince thought a house party would be just the thing for meeting new people… It’s not working out so great for me.” His eyebrow rose ruefully, I’m sure replaying whatever mortifying scene he had made upstairs. He looked back at me suddenly. “No, wait! I didn’t mean you… you are, I meant to say, uh… before now. God, I should just leave.” He ducked his shoulder to go around me but I blocked the way out the door. His awkwardness made my own pale in comparison. He was the king of uncomfortable conversations. No wonder he was a virgin.

“Howard, you seem like an interesting guy, and my ride appears to have decided not to come after me. Do you want to take a walk?” Screw the Uber, they were taking forever anyway.

“With you? Of course, with you, that was stupid.” I had to end his misery, but I admit, I was getting off a little on how flustered he was. I opened the door for us and stepped out into the warm autumn night. It was beautiful; the moon was almost full and the clouds were wispy and see-through, absorbing the moonlight and splashing it all around us. The stone and brick houses with exquisitely manicured lawns looked silvery and even more impressive than they did in the daylight.

Howard and I walked down neighborhood streets neither of us had ever travelled before, commiserating about the horror of having social butterflies for friends.

“Another reason I hated that party,” I reflected, “The music was terrible.”

We found out we were both intense about our music; specifically music no one else likes. Howard was a big jazzy freak, even the really weird experimental stuff, while I pride myself in my extensive knowledge of alternative bands, especially the obscure, B-side stuff. Howard must’ve told me about twenty artists I just _must_ listen to and I returned the favor. It was refreshing to find a kindred spirit with passion for the unloved music in life.

His reticence melted away as we swapped stories and quips like good friends instead of strangers. Our walk kept going and going. Howard told me his favorite color is brown because it “encompasses my melancholy, without being black. Black just doesn’t suit me.” I told him of my affinity for Will Farrell and why I don’t watch movies that make me cry.

“The world is sad enough. I absorb the stories of everyone around me: It’s like their misfortunes happened to me. Do you know what I mean? I don’t need to add fictional angst to my issues.” He laughed at that.

“Don’t laugh! It’s one of the reasons I hate parties. I suck up all the energy and it makes me crazy. Everyone standing around talking about superficial crap and hitting on each other. Like a whore’s sales convention, everyone trying to market themselves. I love one on one talks like this, but small talk makes me… cagey.”

“Almost all talk makes me cagey. I am not much of a people person. I’ve been accused of being awkward once or twice.” Howard put air-quotes around “awkward,” I wondered if he knew how absurdly funny that was, and if he truly thought he wasn’t awkward.

As we approached the house once more, I found myself sharing a memory about a “hand-warming” mug I found at a hospital gift shop that, I swear to you, was shaped like a vagina. I laughed as I said, “What better place to warm your hand, right?”

Howard managed a nervous snicker and it hit me in the face; the reason we were here in the first place. I had started out feeling sorry for him, but I came to like him more than I thought was possible in such a short time. I had to come clean or I would feel like a dirty liar.

“Howard,” I started, tentatively, “I have a confession. I wasn’t outside when you and Vince were arguing downstairs. I was actually waiting for a taxi at the front door. I truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just avoiding people. Can you forgive me?”

He stopped in his tracks, his tiny eyes darted right and left, up and down but never in my direction.

“Howard. Your friend is a shit. You were right to be angry with whatever he said upstairs, but he was also right about something.”

That caught his attention and he looked at me again, eyebrow raised face turned half away from me as though expecting something horrible to attack him at any minute. I couldn’t believe no one had seen how adorable he was. Mustache or no, his awkwardness was endearing.

“It _is_ sexy that you are a virgin,” I caught myself breathing heavily and tried to get it together. I hadn’t had sex in a long time and I was getting ready to tell a virtual stranger with an intriguing accent that I would enjoy a little bit of intercourse, if he didn’t have anything going on. “The first woman you’re with is going to be very lucky. She gets to see the look on your face when you experience a woman for the first time, to run her hands through your hair and watch you explode with passion, to see how you react the first time she takes your cock in her mouth…” I was turning myself on with this speech. Glancing discreetly at his crotch, I noticed he liked it too, so I continued. “She’ll get to hear you make noises you’ve never made before, call her name out… And we haven’t even gotten to the kinky stuff yet. Oh goodness, there are so many amazing firsts coming your way. The best part is you’re old enough to enjoy them fully, not like some teenager in the back of a car fumbling around for a condom, begging his girlfriend to ‘do it.’”

I wanted to keep going but I was out of words. What I really wanted was to throw him on the ground and take advantage of him, but I refrained.

"Well,” he cleared his throat and took a deep breath, “You’ve given me a lot to think about here.”

“Ha! I told you, I can’t do small talk. Sorry… did that just get too real?”

“Goodness, no. I mean, I’ve never had anyone talk to me like that, but it was well enjoyable.” His Britishness made it sound like I had shared a recipe with him, instead of giving him a catalogue of ways I wanted to violate him.

“Would you like to go out sometime this week?” I asked him.

“Yes!” he said just a little too loudly and I giggled.

We exchanged phone numbers. I called a real taxi company this time and Howard and I parted ways for the evening. He called, “I’ll ring you in the week!” as I pulled away. I watched the houses go from large to small as we left affluence and meandered through the city to my slice of not-quite-ghetto. A huge dumb smile was plastered on my face. I didn’t even care. I had actually enjoyed the last two hours of that party. Thank Goodness for Howard and his virginity.

 


	2. I always suck on my olives like that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a telling off of a whorish friend, a first date and some first rate snogging. Something for everyone!

“You left me!” Angela yelled at me from across the parking lot. It was Monday, two days after the party where she was slutting it up without me. I mean, of course she was without me, I’m not a lesbian. I just meant she left me first… sometimes I argue with myself in my head before I can figure out what I really mean to say out loud. Sometimes it just comes out of my mouth anyway.

“Hey slut, it’s not my fault you were banging that emo kid for three hours. That party was awful, I didn’t know anyone except you and you left ME FIRST.” Case in point. I should’ve just said sorry, but that would have been too normal. Nope, I have shouting matches about one night stands in the parking lot at work.

“Lindsay! Can we keep that on the down low? For heaven’s sake, we’re at work.”

“Well, you started it!”

“I was joking! I figured you would leave since I was gone so long and I’m sorry, but not sorry. You know what I mean?” Angela winked annoyingly.

“No, not really since I haven’t had sex in months.” I hated myself in that moment. I was a bit pathetic. I had broken up with the man I always assumed I would marry. He was a loser and it took me ten years to figure that out. I’m slow sometimes, sue me.

“Well, let me give you a little refresher. Have you ever heard of Karezza?”

“No, please don’t.” I said, raising my hands pleadingly. “I think I remember the main points of sex from middle school health class. I don’t want to hear about the miscellaneous kinky weirdness you did with the baby from the party.”

“He was 21!” She said, fake-incredulous.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize he wasn’t _quite_ young enough to be your son… unless you had him when you were 16 and in that case he could be. Perv.”

“Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.”

“Okay Ice-T, that was embarrassing. Please just stop talking.” I swiped my badge across the timeclock and officially started getting paid to listen to her.

“You’re a party pooper, and the sex was amazing. That’s all I’m going to say. You don’t deserve any details.” Angela huffed down the hall toward her cubicle and I turned left toward mine. I put my purse in a drawer and pushed the button to boot up my computer to start the day.

My job consists of sitting in a cubicle for eight hours a day, reading medical records and assigning ICD- 10 codes to all of the diagnoses. It’s boring, but it pays pretty well and I’m good at it. I put my giant 1975 style headphones on my head, turn up the volume on the playlist of the day (Arctic Monkeys, in honor of my new Brit friend) and pretend no one else exists. I tear through those charts. I make diagnoses my bitch. Yeah! That’s how I roll.

But seriously, it’s boring and sometimes I need to encourage myself. Don’t judge me.

About five after ten my phone rang. It was Howard.

“Hello?” I said. Why do we answer phones with a question? I mean, we know someone is there and in this age of cell phones, we almost always know who it is. We should be evolved enough as a species to answer the phone better. Life goal.

“Hello, Lindsay?”

Again with the question. Seriously? This problem may need an awareness campaign. October will now be Unnecessary Question Awareness Month.

“Lindsay?” He asked again. I got caught thinking, oops.

“Yes, Howard, this is Lindsay. How are you?” I was happy to hear from him. Mustache, weirdness and Jazz aside, I liked him a lot.

“I waited the obligatory day before calling you. My mate said it looks desperate if you call a woman the day after you exchange numbers. But I guess now that I said that, you know I’m firmly in the grasp of life’s desperate column. Although, you knew that anyway…”

I wasn’t sure if he was still talking to me or if he had lapsed into an internal monologue. I could almost see him shaking his head to get out of his reverie.

“Anyway, the reason I called is to ask if you want to meet for tea tonight? I quite enjoyed your company Saturday and you seemed to put up with me rather well.” His “rather” sounded more like ‘ravah.’ I have this disorder where I accidentally copy accents. If I talk to someone from Tennessee, I’m suddenly a Dolly Parton impersonator. Howard’s Yorkshire accent is so easily imitated that it’ll be a propeh struggle not t’mock ‘im. Damnit.

“I would be honored. When and what is tea exactly?”

“Sorry. Dinner, that is. Can I pick you up at seven?”

“That sounds great. I’ll text you my address.”

I left early because I could. I work all the time and never take any vacation, so I thought they owed me an hour. I didn’t say goodbye to Angela because I didn’t want to hear about her sexploits and I didn’t want to share anything about my date. Why it was a secret, I don’t know, but I wanted it to be just for me.

 

 

Howard showed up right at 7 with a bottle of wine. He had a trimmed mustache and possibly a haircut, I thought. It was hard to tell if it was shorter or just combed in a reasonable manner. I could tell in the light of day that it was probably long enough for a decent topknot if he decided to take up Sumo wrestling. Although he’d need to pack on about 350 pounds because this man was skinny. Not in a wiry, ropy cowboy way. No, he was not “whipcord” strong. He was a skinny white boy who seemed allergic to outdoor exercise of any kind.

I am a huge judgmental jerk sometimes, just throwing that out there.

I invited him in and asked if he would have a glass of the wine he had brought over. On closer inspection it was a bottle of port.

“You remembered!” I smiled at him. On our walk, I mentioned I liked the hard stuff when it came to alcohol. Port not wine, whisky not beer. I poured us both a glass and we sat in my sunroom watching the sky darken.

“I asked about and the general consensus was I should take you to the Olive Garden for dinner. The fellows at work thought it said I was casual but not cheap. Plus, there was a bar there where I could get you drunk before dinner, without taking you to a bar, which they thought would be preferable. I’m not sure why. American logic is lost on me most of the time.”

I laughed. “The Olive Garden it is then. At least you told me up front you plan to get me drunk.”

“They said that, not me! I never planned to use much of the advice I collected. Believe me, you don’t want to know any more.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Their advice must have sounded more like sexual harassment than sound judgement. Poor Howard.

“I am sure we’ll manage without their wisdom.”

 

The wait was surprisingly long for a Monday evening so we had a plenty of time to try to get drunk at the bar, per the advice of his coworkers. I did my part by ordering a double scotch, neat. Howard visibly relaxed with each consecutive beer. We were finally seated an hour later.

“The salad is the best part, so don’t get too excited about the main course. Whatever you order, the salad is always better. It’s a sad Olive Garden fact. There may be some kind of life metaphor in there somewhere, but I’ve been drinking. Mixing Scotch and philosophy tends to end badly.” I blathered on, a direct result of the aforementioned Scotch.

I looked up from forking an olive from my fantastic salad to see him staring at my lips. I caught his eye as I slowly put the olive on my lips and sucked it off the fork. Howard gasped and looked away. I laughed out loud. Maybe I was more inebriated than I thought.

As we were walking out to the car, Howard said innocently, “You were right, the salad was the best part. I really liked the olives.”

“Are you calling me out? I always suck on my olives like that.”

“Right. You weren’t torturing me at all. I see.”

“No, I was absolutely teasing you. I always suck the olive off my fork, but I don’t usually do it so slowly while making extreme eye contact.” Honesty was the best policy and honestly, I wanted to make him hornier than he had ever been. Austin Powers made an unexpected cameo in my brain and I giggled.

“What?” Howard asked, cocking one eyebrow. That was a very cute habit.

“Do I make you horny baby? Do I? Do I make you randy?” I said in my most ridiculous British accent. Then, realizing that he may have no idea who Austin Powers is, I started laughing even harder. I tried to explain myself but the more I explained, the worse I giggled. “Sorry, Howard, I’ve lost it entirely.” I said, wiping a tear from my eye. I paused at the back of his car to catch my breath. He was laughing along, but I think he was laughing more _at_ me than _with_ me.

“Howard, I’ve got to ask. Why are you still a virgin? You may not be movie star material, but you’re cute in your own way. I had such a good time tonight. You’re funny. You’re smart. What gives?”

“There’s a long and windy story about my childhood and my parents and all that, but the gist of the matter is I am scared to death of women. They terrify me. I always start out projecting confidence but end up saying something entirely asinine. Then instead of backing up and starting over, it’s like I double down on the stupid thing I’ve said and try to make it better but instead it gets worse and worse. Sometimes I accidently lie.”

“What? What is an accidental lie?” I accused in a high pitched you’re-not-getting-away-with-that-one voice.

“Accidentally isn’t quite right, but it’s not like I plan it. Like, once a girl told me she thought I looked like a bobby – it was probably the mustache – so I tried to convince her I was more important than just a regular officer; I was a detective. Unfortunately, I know nothing about policing. I made things up that even I thought sounded ludicrous. I told her once, my police dog died and we replaced it with a pig because they have a better sense of smell.”

“You did not.”

“I did. I then said I had arrested David Cameron for soliciting a prostitute, but it wasn’t on the news because he bribed me. Then I thought it sounded right unethical that I allowed him to bribe me so I told her there was a law allowing members of parliament to do that. She let me go on for fifteen minutes before she told me she was a constable herself. “

“Oh my God.” I was mortified for him.

“Right? And after I was found out, I just stood there frozen. I literally could not move. She finally just turned around and walked away, thank God.”

“Oh Howard. That sounds horrible.” I said, even as I laughed. I am a jerk sometimes. Plus, I’d been drinking. Don’t judge me. “So, how did you get the nerve to ask me out?”

He paused for a minute, and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You are exceptionally easy to talk to. I can tell you these foolish things I do and laugh. You know my most well-guarded secret. I can be honest about things that make me a complete tit and somehow you don’t make me feel bad about any of it. How do you do that?”

“That was a really nice thing to say.” I was not expecting that. His sincerity was unnerving. “I just assumed it was because I’m a little chubby and not so intimidating.” Self-deprecating humor: my fallback when situations get too sweet.

“No. You don’t actually think that? You are exceptionally beautiful.”

Yep, he nailed it. I reached out and grabbed his hand to pull him closer. I was head and shoulders shorter than him, but I could still reach his head. I ran my fingernails up the back of his neck and into his hair, using it to pull him to my lips. I gave him a short, tender kiss and pulled away, but he brought his lips back to mine and we stood in the parking lot of Olive Garden, making out like teenagers. It was awesome.


	3. I blame Dave Matthews.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous dry humping on the couch. Perfect.

The next day at work, I listened to jazz. I was grossed out by 90% of what I heard, but Dave Matthews band kept popping up on the station, making it bearable. I heard the ding of a text message mid-morning that said, “Last night I had the best salad of my life. Salad is my new favorite thing, aside from getting off with you.”

After choking on my coffee and a quick Google search, I realized he didn’t have a quick wank under the table. “Getting off” just means making out, crazy Brits. Language barriers, hilarious. I responded with, “I don’t remember getting off last night, but are you telling me you’re not a virgin anymore? I must have had more to drink than I thought!” I figured I should return the favor and make him Google some things too.

After about ten minutes Howard responded with a horrified emoji and a sincere apology. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that we had intercourse, that was not my intention at all.”

Poor man, why was I torturing him? “I confess: I Googled and I knew what “getting off” meant to you. But I was shocked for just a minute. I had a great time snogging last night. We should do it again soon.” Snogging was a gem of a word I found in my Google search and it made me happy to use it.

At lunch Angela found me heating up my soup in the break room.

“What have you been up to?” she asked.

"I went on a date last night.” I said, just a little proud that it had really happened. Sometimes I lied to her so she would stop trying to drag me to parties and on double dates.

“Who with?” Angela seemed to doubt my story, and I was offended.

“I met him at the party Saturday. His name is Howard.”

“The weird English guy with the Tom Sellick mustache? He was an odd duck.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. Her eyebrows were an abomination. She plucked them to death and then penciled them in too dark.

“I guess you might think he was odd, and I do hate the mustache, but it’s growing on me… I mean, not literally, I totally wax that business, but he’s a nice guy. We’re probably going out again. Have you heard from your son, er, I mean date?”

“Ha ha. You’re a comedic genius. No I have not, and I don’t expect to. I gave him a fake number. I can’t actually date someone who’s more than a decade younger than me. It’s not dignified.”

“Oh, but doing the Kezawhatever was dignified? You’re a hypocrite.” I was in a mood. She insulted the guy I had most recently made out with and I didn’t like it. If she didn’t watch out I was going to tell her that her eyebrows looked like immature drawings of sperm floating above her eyes.

“Wow! Jerkface. What did I do to you?” She looked hurt and I felt a tiny bit sorry for making Spermbrows so upset.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m angry today. PMS probably.” I took my soup back to my desk and decided I should eat alone so I didn’t make any helpless coworkers cry. I didn’t have any new text messages, which bummed me out more than I realized it would. I put my headphones back on and decided I had enough jazz for the day, possibly a lifetime, and threw myself into some angry music from my childhood. It was a Nine Inch Nails kind of day. My soup was great and I dug into it and the coding for the Ankle and Foot clinic with gusto. It was amazing that I could read about toenail debridement and still enjoy food, but I am a consummate professional and a multitasker.

Heading home that night I wondered if I should call Howard but I didn’t. I thought an evening alone with the rest of a bottle of port and Netflix sounded amazing. I also ordered something fun online and was hoping it would be on the porch, discreetly wrapped in brown paper as promised by Adam and Eve. I needed a little alone time after all the smooching the night before.

I was two glasses into the port and three episodes into The Unbreakable Kimmi Schmidt when my phone buzzed. I checked the message and it was from Angela. Ugh. No messages from Mr. Mustache and no brown box on my porch, now I had her message to contend with… thank God for alcohol. Angela wanted to know if I had any plans for the weekend. She had another party she just had to go to and she simply could not go alone. Gag. I politely refused by citing last weekend and her ditching me within the first hour of the party for her sweet young thing. I didn’t plan to answer any of her other text messages. I would lie and say my phone died.

I looked down at the drink in my hand and idly wondered if I was working on a drinking problem. I was drinking 4 nights a week, mostly by myself. Oh well. Who do I have to impress with my sobriety? I didn’t even have the gumption to get a cat, let alone a person to impress. Howard didn’t count. He was growing on me, but he would go back to England and live happily ever after while I stayed right here in Kansas City with only the Chiefs and Royals (mmmm, Salvy) to keep me company. Oooh, let’s not forget the fancy new streetcar to take me anywhere within a 2.2-mile line where I could spend outlandish amounts of money to get drunk with the rest of the pathetically single.

I realized I was spiraling into a seriously bad place. I picked up my phone, debated the wisdom of texting in my non-sober state, and then thought “Eh, fuck it.” I called Howard.

“Hello?” He answered inquisitively… we already went over this, so I’ll save my rant.

“Hey sweetness, how are you doing tonight?” Sweetness? I was an embarrassment to drunks everywhere.

“Fairly well. Better now. What are you doing?” It sounded more like ‘Wha’eeoodoin?’ and it made me chuckle.

“I am obsessed with your accent. Did I tell you that?” My smile was really much bigger than it should’ve been.

“I fink you did a time or two, aye.” He said with extreme emphasis on the Yorkshire-y-ness. It was adorable.

“Do you want to come over?” I don’t know what made me think this was a good idea. I had already put on my pajamas, I was drunkish and probably needed to brush my teeth. Grape based beverages made for tremendous tooth sweaters.

“I’d love to. Do you want me to pick anything up on my way?”

I was tempted to tell him condoms, just to see if he would still be able to talk, but I thought I had some upstairs and I was on the pill anyway, so I didn’t bother. Why get his hopes up in case I drank too much and passed out?

“No, just you.” And your adorable accent. And your awful mustache. Bring it on.

“Right then, be there soon.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up, a giddy excitement washed over me. It felt good. I ran upstairs, brushed my teeth, deodorized my pits and put on my “good jammies.” By good, I mean they didn’t have any wine stains. The shorts were pretty short and the tank top was tight around the boob area. I am a little pudgy in the middle, but I have great boobs and legs. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I added another layer of mascara and made coffee. That seemed like a good way to combat the port-sleepies.

Not 30 minutes later my doorbell rang. It was Howard looking dapper as ever in a tweed sport coat, complete with leather elbow patches. I stifled a laugh. It seemed rude to laugh at your guest but damn, he really had his own style going on.

“You’ll have to forgive my informal attire. I am not sure what made me call you. I was already in for the night and had set upon the bottle of port you gave me. It made me a little lonely for you.” I said. He was totally checking out my boobs, I wasn’t sure if he even heard me.

“I am glad you called. I was just sitting at the hotel listening to Vince be a right dick, like usual.” There was a pause as he pulled his eyes upward with difficulty. “Lovely place you have here.” He looked around. I am pretty sure he was lying because I am no decorator. My walls are green, my couch is brown leather and I have a white recliner. I have exactly one picture on the wall. It’s a large abstract piece I did in college. I kept it because it cost me a fortune. As much as I paid for the canvas, paints, brushes and the course itself I could’ve bought a knock off Picasso for sure. Other than that, there was a TV on the wall above the fireplace, no decorations on the mantle. Maybe he was referring to the cleanliness – I did keep a tidy place.

“Thanks. Do you want to sit down?” I wanted to impress him with my musical choices but I could not stand to listen to one more minute of the Pandora “Jazz Now” station. I turned on my eighties playlist because everyone loves Prince and The Cure, right? He plopped on my couch and I sat down on the opposite side, stretching my legs out in front of me, hanging my feet off the couch next to his leg. I could tell he was searching for something to talk about, but my hotness was distracting. Side note: I don’t have a self-esteem issue. Am I chubby? A little. Perfectly proportioned? Heck no. My top half and bottom half belong to two different people. Attractive? Absolutely. Drunk? Yes, just a touch, but I think I’m pretty alright when I’m sober too.            

The silence was too awkward so I volunteered to get coffee. It was a good choice; he seemed to talk easier with something in his hand to fiddle with (insert dirty joke here). I scooted closer to him and rested my hand on the back of the couch, itching to bury itself in his mass of messy hair. The memory of our “getting off” was fresh in my mind and I don’t mind admitting that I was ready for some more.

Instead we talked about politics. We agreed that Donald Trump is a twat at best and a real danger at worst. We talked a bit about spirituality. I was glad he wasn’t in a cult or anything, that would be a deal breaker. Then we spent the next two hours making each other listen to crazily obscure music from our phones. It was a contest of whose music was weirder. I made him listen to “Detachable Penis” by King Missile, but he deserved it for making me listen to six minutes of horn screeching without a melody or discernable beat.

“But it’s Thelonious Monk! I cannot believe you didn’t like it.” I was fairly certain that no reasonable human could like it. Thankfully, his eyes crinkled just right when he smiled and I am a sucker for smiling eyes. We inched closer and closer together.

I had picked the most recent song, asking him if he thought Dave Matthews was jazzy enough for his ears. He listened and thought for a moment. In our conversational lull Dave was making suggestions.

 

_So here we are tonight, You and me together_

_The storm outside, the fire is bright,_

_And in your eyes I see What's on my mind_

_You've got me wild, Turned around inside_

Finally, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Last night was… I don’t know what it was. Making out with you was the most enjoyable thing I’ve done in a long time. What do you think?”

“It was magic.” He looked down at his empty coffee mug. Just like that, the energy in the room was out of control sexy.

Howard was fidgeting. I was breathing just a little too heavily out of my mouth. _Screw it,_ I thought, and took his cup from his hand. I set our mugs on the coffee table. Turning around slowly I locked eyes with him, straddled his legs and lowered myself down onto his lap.

“I can’t stand it anymore. There is something about you I find irresistible… God, that’s a cheesy line, but seriously, I haven’t thought of much else since Saturday.” His breath was coming even faster than mine and I could feel him hardening under me. We tasted like coffee when we kissed. Dave kept the mood going with each verse. I reveled in running my hands through the back of Howard’s hair: it was curly and soft.

I sat back for a minute looking at him. His hands were still at his sides. I grabbed them and interlaced our fingers. He brought one of our locked hands to his mouth and kissed my hand while looking into my eyes. Fire shot low into my belly and I moaned just a little. I pulled his hands down to my hips and left them there hoping he would take the cue to explore. My body was on autopilot now and there was more than just a little pelvic motion happening. I kissed him hard and pressed my breasts into his chest. He was killing me. Knowing he was a virgin made me want to rip his clothes off, but it also made me extra cautious. I didn’t want to ruin his first time by making it too abrupt or denying him the “lead up” most people get to enjoy.

I couldn’t think anymore. I gave myself over entirely to the sensations ripping through me. Howard’s hands had made their way up my shorts and he was holding onto the bare flesh at my hips. He was now thrusting upward to match my every movement and gripping hard to press me downward. He suddenly stopped moving and looked up at me with panicked eyes, holding me still and not breathing. I smiled evilly at him.

“Don’t move, oh God, don’t move.” Howard said to me, or maybe to himself. Who knows, but it drove me mad.

I leaned forward, my breasts near his chin and whispered in his ear, “Oh, but Howard, I want to make you come. I’ve been thinking of nothing else for days.” I pressed hard against him with my pelvis and kissed his neck at the same time. He made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan. I looked into his eyes as he collapsed into an intense orgasm - it was too much. I had no control over myself. I called his name out loud as I followed him with a spectacular O of my own.

“Oh, my,” he said in his typical understated way.

“I know. Me too.” My heart was beating so hard I could feel my pulse in my face, and elsewhere. “That was amazing.” It _was_ amazing. I’ve had actual intercourse less satisfying. Who am I kidding? This was probably the most satisfying orgasm I’d ever had. At least top 5.

Howard was resting his head against my breasts and he muttered something so softly I couldn’t hear it.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t think I was religious, but I think it was a prayer. I may have been giving thanks.”

I laughed, but I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or serious.


	4. Naughty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little texting and pedicuring...

Wednesday at work I found jazz I liked. I don’t know if it was any better than what I listened to on Tuesday or if I just wanted to like it more. Howard ruined a perfectly good pair of pants at my house the evening before and I had my first dry-humping orgasm since sophomore year. What in the world was going on _? I am not a believer in love at first sight. I don’t make rash decisions. Hell,_ I thought, _I don’t even buy candy at the checkout because it’s not fiscally responsible._ But here I was, enjoying every minute of reliving my teenage sexual behavior with a man I barely knew, who was scheduled to fly home, thousands of miles away, in the very near future.

Thinking of Howard’s departure made my stomach a little sick. _Oh no. There is no way I am falling in_ love _with him. That cannot be possible._ But it was totally possible, plausible even. I felt giddy when I thought about him. We had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking about everything. Deeply held convictions, memories that brought us to tears, there were times I was laughing so hard my face hurt. It was not a normal night of getting-to-know-you conversation: It was like talking to my best friend. I barely let him escape before molesting him further.

“Fuuuuuck!” I said out loud, accidentally. I sent my boss an email letting her know I was ‘sick’ and skipped out to get a pedicure and an eyebrow wax. If I couldn’t think straight, at least my personal grooming would be on point.

I sent Howard some texts while a Vietnamese man was scrubbing my heels to oblivion.

_After our ‘date’ last night I got to thinking about the things I did not know about you. I feel like before you see someone’s O face you should really know the basics about them. We jumped a little ahead of ourselves. No biggie._

He didn’t immediately respond, so I began my list.

_Questions:_

_What do you do for a living and why did you have to fly all the way to Kansas City to do it? Seems like a day one question, but I didn’t even think about it until today._

_Where did you grow up? What was your childhood like?_

_Do you wear boxers or briefs? I’ve been trying to picture you naked all day, but your underwear refuses to come off in my fantasies. Sometimes boxers, sometimes briefs. Or are you a boxer-briefs guy? Best of both worlds, I hear._

He responded:

_I am getting ready to go to a meeting and I don’t think I can do most of your questions justice in the 15 minutes I have remaining. I promise to answer any questions you have when you meet me for dinner tonight. Please?_

_Oh, and I have a multitude of underwear types. Even a so-called banana hammock, which was not as uncomfortable as I anticipated it would be._

 

I laughed out loud at the banana hammock text. I was keeping that forever.

 

_Dinner sounds wonderful. Do you cook? Are we talking a restaurant? My place?_

_I fear if I come to your house, we will never eat food. Which is not necessarily a bad thing but we may not have enough energy to make it through the entire evening._     

_You’re a bit cheekier in text than you are in person. I like naughty Howard._

_Confession: I faked sick at work and I am getting a pedicure right now._

_Now, who is being the naughty one?_

                I leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the pedicure. Apparently Howard was coming out of his shell now. I couldn’t wait for this evening.   


	5. Jazz, Dreams and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Declarations of love and putting the key in the ignition...

Howard did his homework this time instead of going with the advice of his misguided peers. We pulled up in front of the Majestic Steakhouse. I was excited.

“I’ve passed this place a thousand times and I’ve never been inside,” I said. The outside of the building was brick with a big red awning. Red and blue neon signs proclaimed there was “LIVE JAZZ” inside.

“I think we’re in for a treat. The Bram Wijnands Trio is playing tonight and I’ve heard they’re great.” His eyes were bright, like a kid at Christmas. For Howard this might be better than Christmas. He had live jazz and the possibility of sex later. He had made reservations and we were seated in a dark corner not too far away from the band. The table was layered in white tablecloth and candlelight. The restaurant was packed and the band was in full swing. The noise of the forks, the music and the laughing conversation all around felt surreal, like we were on a movie set.

He scooted his chair to the corner of the table to sit closer to me. He held my hand on the starched tablecloth, and seemed completely at ease for the first time since I’d known him. His eyes closed and his forehead wrinkled when the pianist went into the chorus of a song Howard obviously relished. The hair on his forehead bounced back and forth as he shook his head “no” along with the wail of the sax. He opened his eyes as the song rang to a close.

“What?” he said, looking at me quizzically. “You’re smiling at me like you’re humoring the retarded kid.”

“We don’t say the ‘R’ word here in America, and no, I wasn’t humoring you. I was thinking how adorable you are when you’re absorbed in the music like that. It’s like you’re in a different place entirely.”

"When I used to play, I could jam for hours. That’s one of the beautiful parts about jazz. When you feel it, you can’t really do it wrong. Everyone is improvising, taking solos, and then coming back together. It’s brilliant.”

“What did you play?”

"Trumpet, trombone, bass, guitar and - don’t tell anyone - jazz flute.”

“Ha! You play jazz flute? Like Ron Burgundy?” I was shaking at the image of him walking across tables and blowing fire from his flute, ala Mr. Burgundy. He certainly dressed the part, now that I thought about it.

“Nah, he’s actually better than I was. I was an amateur jazz flautist, but the rest I could handle nicely.”

“So you’re telling me you played guitar in a band, and no women were throwing their panties on stage at you?” I didn’t believe it. Just knowing he was a multi-instrumentalist (even if one was a flute) was sexy as hell.

“Oh heaven’s no. The rest of the band members were in their sixties and we played at senior centers and hunting clubs and the like. There were not a lot of panties in the room, unless you counted the granny ones.”

"You are a hilarious man, Mr. Moon.” I meant it too.

Our drinks arrived at the table. “A toast to you, Miss Collins.” He said while looking directly into my eyes. “May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night, and the road be downhill all the way to your door.” I thought he was done, but he followed up with, “And may the sound of jazz forever make you think of me.” Did he seriously just turn into a toast-making, smooth-talking ladies-man? Wow, the jazz worked wonders on his confidence. Thankfully it was dark, because I think he made me blush.

“Cheers, Howard.”

After dinner we walked along Broadway holding hands.

“I had a dream last night about you.” Howard said to me.

“Uh-oh, I hope it was a good one.” I wondered which direction this was going.

“I dreamed I took you home to Leeds to meet my grandparents.” This was interesting. He hadn’t talked at all about his family. “Of course, that is impossible because they died years ago, but in the dream they were in their old house. I grew up in that house and it was exactly as I remembered it as a boy. Every wall was papered in flowers. The floors were all shiny wood. The wood burning stove was radiating heat – I remember actually feeling the heat from it. It was so vivid.”

He paused for a minute as though trying to decide if he should go on. “And then my Granddad came in and slapped me on the arse and told me to go make tea. It was rude to keep you waiting.” He looked at me with the raised eyebrow again. “So I left, knowing he was telling you something and he didn’t want me to know. When I brought the tea you were both looking at me sadly. And then I woke up.”

“That was a strange one. What do you think it meant?”

“I have no idea, but I keep wanting to ask you what he said,” Howard smiled down at me. “I haven’t seen that house, or my Granddad in almost fifteen years. It was surreal to see it all again.”

“Why did you live with your grandparents? Where were your parents?”

“Gone. Granddad, he was my mother’s father, said they took off shortly after my fourth birthday and just never checked back in. I have one or two pictures of them, but I don’t know where they are. Gran and Granddad were my parents as long as I could remember.”

“I never understood parents like that. I’m glad you had your grandparents.”

“Me too. They were wonderful. Old and stodgy, perhaps, but good.” He said with a smile in his voice.

I stopped in front of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. A massive church with a giant gold dome.

"Howard, what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.” I could tell from the shake of his head he knew exactly what I meant. “I don’t understand this at all. It takes me 34 years to speak to a woman reasonably, and in 5 days I fall in love with said woman, who just happens to live four thousand miles away!”

My eyes were suddenly the size of quarters. “Did you just say you loved me?”

“Did I?” His voice jumped an octave and he suddenly stood an inch taller. “No, you see what I was saying was, that this… we are, um… Yes.” He paused. “Yes, I do love you.” I could see his Adams apple bob up and down as he swallowed massively.

“Howard…”

He cut me off, “It’s fine, I know it’s too early. I shouldn’t have said that now. That puts you in such an awkward position, I am so sorry.”

“Howard…”

“No really, you don’t need to say anything. I didn’t… “

I couldn’t stand there and wait for him to stop blubbering any longer. “HOWARD! Stop.” He was trying to avoid looking at me.

“I love you, too.” It felt good to admit it out loud.

“Really?” He asked me, astounded.

“Truly. I don’t know how it happened so fast, but I’m… I’m overwhelmed by it.”

We stood in the moon-shadow of the great cathedral for a few minutes before we started walking back toward the restaurant in silence, hand in hand. I didn’t know what to do now. It was different before when I thought this was a passing infatuation, a fling with a foreign guy, maybe I’d get my heart broken a little when he left but then we’d be Facebook friends and I’d get over it. But he just confessed his love to me, and I said I loved him back. What now?

“Howard, what do you do for a living? I figured since I love you and all, I might want to know what you do and why you’re here.” We had talked about how to solve the injustices of the world for the last three days, but never got around to daily life.

Howard snorted. “You have any guesses?”

I had not a clue but I threw in a couple of one liners. “Are you a mustache model? No? Sport-coat salesman? I give up.”

“I am an electro-mechanical engineer.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“I’m here because I work for a company that is thinking about acquiring one of the amusement parks around here and I’m to go over the specifications to make sure that the rides have been properly designed, calibrated and maintained. So basically, I sit in a desk all day and do math. I am supposed to make sure it’s all safe before the uppers decide if the deal goes through.””

“Wow. Do you ride the roller coasters?”

“Oh heavens no. I see how these things are maintained, or not maintained and more often than not, it’s the not... If you know what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

Conversation lulled as we neared the restaurant.

“Where are we headed, Howard?” I asked when we got in the car. I could think of nothing else I’d rather do than take him home.

He fumbled with the key. He couldn’t quite get it in the ignition. Oh, the irony.

“Howard,” I thought he needed help. “Can I please make love to you?” His head swiveled toward me fast enough that his hair whipped into his eyes and he had to brush it back with his long pale fingers. _He has beautiful hands_ , I thought for the first time.

“I can’t think of anything else, and I hadn’t even contemplated the possibility you would declare your love for me.” I have a tendency to keep talking in stressful situations, take up the silent space with many words so it doesn’t get weird. I didn’t do that tonight, I just stopped and waited for his answer. I waited for a long time. He hadn’t even started the car yet. I thought he may have slipped into a fugue state.

“I am afraid I am much too serious for a one-night stand.”

 _Okay_ , I thought. _I see that. That’s not what I want, not at all. Of course, we have only known each other for 5 days so I understand why you’d say that…_

“And when I leave, we won’t be together, at least until my next holiday…”

_He’s trying to talk himself out of it!_

“But if I don’t make love to you, I am certain to regret it for the rest of my life.”

 _He is intense,_ I thought, as his dark brown eyes smoldered and burned a hole through me. He melted me from the inside out. He put the key into the ignition and started the car, still holding my gaze. I didn’t mean that as a euphemism, but take it as you will.


	6. The Case of the Runaway Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard's gone wrong, and I don't know what to do about it.

I rolled over noisily in my bed, alone, wondering where I went wrong. I didn’t think it was me, but he left in such a hurry I didn’t have the chance to figure it out. He hadn’t responded to my texts or calls. I felt miserable and lonely. Weren’t we just having a fantastic time two hours ago? Was he not the most confident man in the joint? Maybe I should’ve talked him into having sex in the restaurant bathroom.

I rolled over again, checking at the clock thinking it was three in the morning. _11:26. You’ve got to be shitting me_. I had six more hours to contemplate the failure of my relationship while actively not sleeping. I searched my mind for clues, trying to unravel the Case of the Runaway Virgin.

We had made it back to my house, we were having wine. Well, I was having wine. Howard was swirling it nervously in the glass. I put on some music. Charlie Mingus, all instrumental. It should’ve been right up his alley. I kissed him. That seemed fine. I took off my shirt. He seemed to enjoy that, too. Then I reached up to unbutton his shirt and he froze. He grabbed my hands and held them for a minute, with his eyes closed, and then he hugged me closely and in a whispering voice he said, “I’m sorry, I have to go.” He practically ran out the door, leaving me shirtless in my living room listening to shitty jazz.

There was no sleeping for me, even though I had finished both glasses of wine plus one more. I checked my phone one more time. Nothing. _Coward._

I wrapped myself in my robe and turned on my iPod. The Arctic Monkeys started hammering out “Do I Wanna Know?” Of all the stupid bands to pop up… When he said “summat” instead of “something,” I yelled, “How dare you, sir!” at the iPod, like a crazy person.

Out of curiosity I Googled and they’re from Sheffield, UK. 34 minutes from Leeds.

“Fuck you guys.”

I played on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours album. I knew they were British too, but most of them weren’t talking to each other when they wrote the music, so it made sense. Then I cried myself to sleep on the couch.

 

I didn’t hear from Howard on Thursday. I wasn’t about to contact him again. I left a heartfelt voicemail and several texts after he fled from me on Wednesday and I was hurt and embarrassed that they hadn’t been returned. Goddamn coward. Howard the coward. It rhymed. How had I not noticed that before when I said it like forty times to myself throughout the day. Whatever, I was sad. Plus, who cares if it rhymes. That is not significant. Jeez, I ramble when I’m freaking out.

Friday came and went without a peep.

Saturday morning, I woke up angry. No, I was furious. Fuck Howard Moon and his awkward declarations of love. It wasn’t a very good love if he couldn’t even talk to me.

I picked up my phone and called his number. It rang four times and I was getting ready to hang up when a chipper voice answered the phone.

“ ‘ello?”

“Howard?”

“Nah, this is ‘is mate Vince Noir. This our girl?” See, this is why we answer the phone with questions. I withdraw my earlier objection. _Our girl?_

“Well, I really don’t know. Is Howard around.”

“Aye, he’s bein’ a total ballbag though.” He said “vough,” and it made me like him a bit. What is it with me and accents?

“He was worse than a ballbag to me last I saw him. Is he there? I need to yell at him.”

“ ‘e is but e’s wavin’ his arms all around like I’m not supposed to say that, so I guess I’m sayin’ ‘e’s gone right now.”

Vince was a cockney douchebag, but he was clever about it, and at least he answered the phone.

“Vince, can you do something for me?”

“Sure!”

“I would like you to tell Howard he is a coward. His declaration of love for me was apparently a lie, but he should have the decency to at least answer my goddamn calls.”

Vince yelled, “ ‘oward! Our girl says you’re a soddin’ prick and a coward who don’t really love ‘er anyway,” He came back on the line, “I hope you don’t mind the soddin’ prick part. I added that on m’own ‘cause he told me how he ran out on ya.” There was a muffled sound and I could tell the mouthpiece was covered up. I heard about every third word and made out, “Tell ‘er y’self ya tosser.”

“Right then. ‘oward, who’s not ‘ere, said to tell ya that ‘e’s sorry that he’s a right twat, but you’re better off and he’s going ‘ome tomorrow so forget about him.”

I felt like I had been punched. Punched by the person who loved me just three days earlier.

Vince was still there. “Lindsay? Are you there? Yeah? I’m right embarrassed for him, really ‘e’s a good mate but ‘e’s got this anxiety or whatever that makes him go nutty. ‘e just ran out the door so I better go after ‘im, but ‘e really did like ya, I know he did.”

I didn’t say anything, and the line went dead.


	7. Fucking Groupon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which I get obscenely angry at an advertisement.

It was two months later and I was not okay.

I was forced to go to monthly team meetings and I was in the midst of the most boring one yet. _No, Joyce this is for Medicare part A only, the 25 modifier won’t apply… Then why won’t it fall out of my edit failure queue Angie... You just have to reassign it…. No, it’s actually better if you redistribute…_

_Oh my cocksucking hell, why can’t they just shut up?_ I had so many other things on my mind and I could not stand to listen to one more whiner complain about something that didn’t matter in the grand scheme. I just stood up and left the room, leaving 18 people staring after me as I slammed the door. I plopped down in my chair and hung my head. It weighed a hundred pounds; I had to hold it up with both hands.

I fell in love with Howard in record time, and I fell hard. How could I have fallen in love with a virginal dick with a mustache and a stupid name. I still couldn’t listen to anyone with a remotely British accent without bursting into tears. Howard’s toast worked because every time I heard jazz, I became physically ill, remembering our aborted tryst. I worked overtime every day and drank most nights just to keep my mind occupied and numb.

Angela stopped by my desk before quitting time and perched herself on my desktop. I kept my headphones on and tried to wait her out, but she started tapping on my shoulder. Sighing, I turned around and surrendered the sanctuary of my music.

“Lindsay. You look like shit. What is wrong with you?”

“Sod off, okay?” Seriously? I just Brit-swore at her.

“I don’t know what that means exactly but your tone is not appreciated. Okay! Your fling dumped you! You only knew him one week! It’s time to move on!” She said with entirely too much enthusiasm and at a volume that encouraged eavesdropping.

“Look, I will feel any way I want to feel, alright? It doesn’t make sense to you, but it doesn’t have to. You weren’t the one that loved him, alright.”

“Whoa! Loved him? That’s crazy.”

“Shut up. Please. If you are my friend at all, please just go away.” I was on the verge of tears and my voice quivered.

“Alright, alright. Honey, you need a vacation.” She walked out for the weekend, with sass. I assume she had a date with some young stud. _I’m actually friends with a cougar_ , I thought absently.

I didn’t have the heart to go back into the chart I had been reading. It was depressing. A 42-year-old man with stage 4 prostate cancer. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Angela was right. I did look like shit, I felt like shit. I needed a change of venue. I decided to get paid to peruse Groupon.

**FINAL HOURS! UP TO AN EXTRA 20% OFF ALL TRAVEL DEALS!**

That seemed promising. _Thailand, never really thought about going there, though I do like pad Thai… That’s a solid maybe. New Orleans? No way, too much jazz._

**10-DAY Vacation in England and Ireland with Airfare! $999!**

_Okay universe, you are a total cockbox. Here I am, taking the first step to get myself back on track and you’re going to pull this nonsense?_

I sat at my desk, staring at disbelief. Everywhere I turned, Howard. This was unbe-fucking-lievable. Slowly the disbelief turned to anger. The dark cloud gathered around me but instead of the Charlie Brown rain cloud of depression, I was Storm from the X-Men. I was pretty sure my eyes would glow and I would electrocute anyone that came near me. I had never been so enraged by an ad for a vacation. I pulled my purse out of the drawer, slammed it shut and pulled out my credit card.

“I am going to fucking England.” I said aloud to the cosmos. “Are you happy now?”


	8. It's on like Donkey Kong.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't you think it's time to get shitfaced in London? I sure do.

The plane ride was excruciating. I should actually say plane rides, as in three of them. I flew from Kansas City to Atlanta, Atlanta to New York, and New York to London with at least a two-hour layover between each flight. There was a reason this trip was so cheap.

When I finally disembarked I tried to figure the time difference, realized that after 16 hours of travel and no sleep, I could not math. I asked someone for the time and they said it was half past five. I pulled my coat up around my ears and set out to find my hotel.

I had no idea how to find Howard or even if he was in the country. It was a week before Christmas but I didn’t really care. I had no family gatherings to go to. Most everyone in my family was dead, estranged or in prison. Well, only two prisoners; a meth dealer and a rapist. Eh, every family has ‘em, right?

Since I officially knew two people in London, Vince the twit and Harold the… whatever he was, I didn’t have much help so I turned to everyone’s friend, the hotel’s concierge.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes, Miss. How can I help you?” I liked this guy straight away. He was in his sixties, maybe even seventies with impeccable posture and an accent that would make Mary Poppins sound cockney.

“I wonder if you can help me find a person. His name is Howard Moon. He is originally from Leeds, but I don’t know where he lives now. He has a friend named Vince Noir. I need to find either of them. In America I would just call the information line or look it up on the internet but here...?”

“Certainly, Miss. One moment.” For an old guy, he was fast on the keyboard. He perched his reading glasses at the end of his nose and looked thoughtfully at the screen. “I am sorry, Miss, but I don’t see anyone with that name, but I have to enter a location to search and since you’re not sure where he is currently living, I am not having any luck.”

“Thank you for trying.” I went upstairs to my room and fell asleep at 6pm.

 

I woke up the next day disoriented. I had slept for 14 straight hours and I still felt hungover. Jet lag is a bitch. I trudged down to the visitors center in the hotel and used the computer for a bit. I already knew he didn’t have a Facebook page from my previous stalking attempts. I used the website Grandpa Concierge used with no luck. I sat there staring at the screen in despair. Then I looked up at a group of people chatting, enjoying their accents and I realized I was in London.

_You woke up in a foreign country this morning. DO NOT sit in the computer lounge all day and search for Howard. This entire city is full of people with accents, go soak it up! Do something crazy! Don’t let him ruin this chance!_ This was my mantra as I popped upstairs to shower and beautify.

 

 

I didn’t rent a car because they said the public transportation was terrifically convenient in London, and if my sense of direction was any better, it might have been. I had zero spatial intelligence so maps were gibberish. Looking at the sky and trying to figure out what direction I was heading was like asking me to look at the innards of a monkey and tell the future. Both were not happening and the thought of doing either stressed me out. I stopped at a café and had a tea… because London, duh.

I pretended not to be lost for a bit longer, but I couldn’t even find a tube station and it was cold outside. My boots and leggings were adorable, but not warm enough by a long shot. My options were to start accosting people on the street, call the concierge on the throw away phone I had purchased when I got in country or call Howard, whose number I had in my own phone.

I hadn’t called him for a reason: I wanted to creep on him. I wanted to be a super stalker and peek through his curtains to see what television programs he watched, how often he used the bathroom and on what day of the week he clipped his toenails. Okay, maybe not that heavy. Just some light stalking. Did he look happy? Was he totally over me? Was he miserable too?

I pulled my phone up and then realized that he probably used a burner phone in the states too. Sure enough, it was an 816 area code – northwest Missouri, USA.

“Damn!” I lamented. Now what was I going to do?

I asked a passerby how to find the tube station. It was literally across the street from the café. I shook my head in disgust and walked away without even a thank you. I wanted to go to the hotel, curl up in a ball and die.

               

 

I woke up fuzzy mouthed and hot. It was still daylight, but just barely. It irritated me that I wasn’t sleeping. It was at this point that my stomach made it known she would no longer be ignored. The roaring from below was a reminder that the last thing I ate was a Cinnabon in the airport in Kansas City.

I put on some clothes, looked at myself in the mirror and noticed how much weight I had lost in two months. The scale said fifteen pounds but it wasn’t until this moment that I noticed how thin my face looked. I could see the veins on the back of my hands popping up. I looked… frail.

Aw, hell naw. I said to myself and applied some additional rouge and mascara, flipped my hair upside down, sprayed the hell out of it and fluffed it up. I always felt better when my hair wasn’t flat. I added some bracelets and changed out of my yoga pants into the “look what you’re missing” outfit I purchased for the day I told Howard to eat shit and die. Looking much better and buoyed by the promise of dinner, I put on my coat and decided to find something outlandishly expensive and frivolous. I could afford to spend two days’ worth of meal allowance since I hadn’t managed a bite since touchdown.

One of the first places I passed was called “Burger and Lobster.” Two of the best foods around. I was definitely a carnivore. It felt sad for just a moment when I asked for a table for one, but then I decided I was too hungry to care. The restaurant was decorated in huge lobster cages that separated the room in half with lights strung inside of them. It was an interesting look. Everything on the menu looked amazing so I settled on both a lobster and a burger. Don’t judge me. I had a mini-fridge in my room if need be.

The meal was delicious, and the two double scotches I had afterward were amazing as well. It was starting to feel like a proper vacation. I walked outside and it was full dark. I was in Soho the week before Christmas so there were people everywhere. Nightlife was in full swing. I walked around with the crowd for a while, soaking up their energy and happiness. I turned the corner and the sound of a trumpet solo came blaring out of an open door.

_Ronnie Scott’s_ was _Open Nightly 6:30pm to 3am_ , the neon sign told me, with a picture of a saxophone proudly displayed. I stopped dead and a woman ran into the back of me. I barely noticed. I decided that my “sad-times” music was playing, I was already drinking and it was just the right night to drown my sorrows. I hadn’t gone on a truly drunken rampage for a long time and it was happening tonight. It was on like Donkey Kong.

I squeezed my way past the bar and sat at one of the many tiny tables for two. Every tiny table had a tiny lamp. It was intimate, like each couple was sitting at their bedside table. I guess that was supposed to be the point, it was sexytime music and the darkness with little lamps provided just enough light for moderately ugly people to get laid.

I don’t remember what happened much after the lamp thoughts, because I got entirely, entirely obliterated.


	9. You don't get to be sorry yet, damnit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it out... let it all out.

I woke up at the crack of noon with a raging hangover. I was flushed, nauseated, sweating and I thought my head was going to explode. I was in my hotel room, but I had no memory of getting there. I had purposefully chosen a restaurant close to my hotel, but I was still shocked I had found my way back.

I heard the toilet flush in my room and panicked. Oh God. Either I invited someone back to my hotel and had drunken sex or there is someone here to kill me… and they had to poo. _Oh no, I’m having a walk of shame event, aren’t I?_ I cringed to see what kind of Coyote Ugly bloke (I hoped it was a bloke, at least) came out of the bathroom.

Tall, dark messy hair, mustache.

“Oh fuck.” I said, and promptly passed out.

               

 

I had no idea how long I was passed out, but I stayed in that state for as long as I could. Long after I was awake, I laid perfectly still, partly because I wanted to chuck but mostly because if that had been who I thought it was, I wanted to die before I acknowledged his presence in my current state.

“Lindsay?”

Sonofabitch.

“Lindsay, your eyes are twitching and you just said son of a bitch out loud. I know you’re awake.”

“Oh, I thought that was in my head,” I said, still not moving. “I need a shower before I say another word to you.” With that I hauled my leftover-drunk ass out of bed and walked (stumbled) to the bathroom. I stripped, ran the hottest shower I could stand and stepped in. Then I laid down in the shower because the world was spinning and there was no way I was staying upright. I lay pathetically in the shower until the hot water was almost gone, and prayed he was gone as well. This is not the way it was supposed to go down. I was supposed to be on point when I saw him. I was supposed to tell him how it was!

There was no sense in stalling anymore. I stepped out and dried off, toweled my hair dry and promptly realized I hadn’t brought any clothing into the bathroom with me. _Seriously Lindsay? You forgot clothes? Oh well, who needs them anyway._ I opened the door with my hair up in a towel turban and a single towel wrapped around my body. I stepped out of the room with my hands on my hips and prepared to kick some ass. The world was only slightly fuzzy and I thought I was capable of coherent speech.

“Oh, I’ll leave so you can dress.” He stood to leave but I strode across the room, put my hand on his chest and shoved him back down in the chair.

“You, sir, are not going anywhere. I traveled four thousand miles to tell you about yourself so you’re going to sit down and listen.” He didn’t say anything so I kept going. “Howard Moon, I am so mad at you!”

“I know, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up. You don’t get to be sorry yet, damnit.” I snapped back. “I’ll tell you when you can be sorry. I have been a miserable, awful, depressed wretch since you mindfucked me. You could have least actual-fucked me as compensation for the way you treated me. What the hell? Howard, you told me you loved me and then you ran away from me, literally. You ran out my door and burned rubber down the street. You never answered my calls and you had your friend tell me you _were leaving the country_.” I was shrieking at this point and tears were making their way down my cheeks and rolling off my chin.

“You left me! Even the piece of shit I broke up with last year had the guts to at least drunk dial me in the middle of the night and send me pictures of his dick every now and again. That was harassment, but at least it showed he was thinking about me.”

There is no talking logically when your heart is broken, so don’t even tell me how crazy that sentence was.

“You made me feel so stupid. I was a fool! I never fall in love like that. Do you hear me? NEVER. Not once. Then you walk into my life with your jazz, and mustache an “Oi, I fink I love you” bullshit and murder my heart and soul. Just… How could you? Why did you do that?”

My fists were so tight I could feel the crescent shaped holes I was digging in my palms but I didn’t care. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw him out. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to punch his stupid sad face which was covered in tear tracks. I wanted to hug him and tell him I was sorry I was screaming. Then that passed and I wanted to punch him again.

Howard waited a reasonable amount of time before he started speaking, just to make sure I was done. “Everything you just said is completely true. I was a coward and an idiot. There is no excuse or explanation that can justify how I left things. I was a horrible human being to you and you deserved nothing but the best from me. The thing is, I can’t give you the best because I am worthless. I proved it to you, didn’t I? I don’t expect you to ever forgive me and I’m sorry you had to come all this way to tell me all of this. I… I’m glad you’re safe now. I’ll go.”

He stood up and moved toward the door. I stared after him in disbelief. “What are you doing? You stupid bastard.” I said under my breath.

He turned around expecting to receive another tongue lashing but I couldn’t even manage. “Do you honestly think I came this far to yell at you and then have you walk away?” I was speaking quietly now. My voice was raw from screaming and the unshed tears that were just seconds away from erupting.

Howard looked incredulous, “What do you want to do? Kill me? Do you want me to kneel so you can execute me? Because I would gladly do so if it would ease your misery. It would certainly ease mine.” He was getting louder now. “Do you want to yell at me some more? Hit me? I will let you. I have nothing that isn’t yours already, take what you want.”

“I want you to try to get me back you imbecile. I made the grand gesture. It’s costing me two grand to tell you off right now, so… so… so fuck you Howard! If you don’t love me, if you never loved me then just tell me so I can move on. But if you told me the truth that night then you better do something about it, because I am dying over here!”

He dropped his coat on the floor and was at my side in three strides. He grabbed me with a viciousness that surprised me. His long fingers wrapped around my upper arms and his nose as close to mine as it could be without touching.

“I did love you, I DO love you. I’m just a freak. Men are not virgins at 34 because they’re normal. This is what I do. It got too real. I knew I was going to let you down. I let everyone down but I can’t help but love you. I’m sorry!” He shook me, “Do you hear me? I am sorry.”

And then his lips were on mine, searching, seeking absolution. His hands moved around my back and pressed me into his body, the towel between us seeming an inadequate barrier. The towel fell off my head and wet ropes of hair fell down my back. He used it to his full advantage, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling it backward so he had access to my neck, which he attacked with kisses.

It felt wonderful, but I was still hung-over. Add on the screaming and crying and I was nearing the end of my standing-up time: I needed to sit down or I was going to fall down.

“Howard,” I said, muffled against his lips. “Howard, I have to sit down.” He pulled back looking anxious and helped me to the bed as dizziness threatened to overcome me.

The room spun faster when I closed my eyes, so I opened them. Howard was wringing his hands over me like a worried grandma and it made me laugh. Laugh on the inside, that is, because my outside wanted to throw up.

“Howard, I’m cold.” My hair was still wet and I was wearing only a towel. I decided to be a terrible person and crawl under the blankets nude. I lifted my hips and whipped the towel off in one smooth motion and slowly slid under the sheet. “Will you come lay with me?” I had no intentions to let anything happen, but I thought he deserved some torture and by the look on his face it worked.

“I-I-I can’t! You-You’re…”

“I’m cold and it’s your fault,” I threw in shamelessly, “Now come warm me up.”

He stood over me with his mouth opening and closing like a trout out of water, making hiccupping noises.

“Please?” He finally closed his mouth and sat on the edge of the bed. He slipped off his shoes and laid on top of the blankets next to me. I rolled away from him, pulling his left arm over the top of me. He winced. I was surprised to see his swollen, scraped knuckles.

“I am assuming there’s a story to this, but it’ll have to wait until I can sit up again, okay?” I felt Howard’s snort of laughter on the back of my neck but he didn’t say anything. I tucked his fist under my chin and fell asleep.

 

I awoke slowly, warm and comfortable. “MmmmmAAARgh!” I arched my back and stretched lazily.

“Good morning.”

I let out a scream, which caused Howard to yelp and take a backward roll, right off the bed. I heard a large thud proceeded by, “Christ!”

I sat up quickly, relieved to find my head firmly attached with only the slightest headache.

“Oh, my gosh! Howard, I’m so sorry.”

He sat on the floor next to the bed with one arm propped up on his knee and the other holding him upright with a bemused smile.

“I knew you were angry with me but I didn’t think you’d throw me to the ground.”

“I forgot you were here.” The entire morning seemed like a dream. We sat silently for what seemed like an hour fidgeting. I caught his eye with a sideways glance and wondered what the heck came next.

“I don’t know,” he said, putting his ESP to use, “This is the most awkward situation I’ve ever been in. That’s really saying something coming from me.”

I smiled at him and then remembered my level of dishabille. “Um, Howard, can you go in the bathroom for a minute? I want to have this conversation with my clothes on.”

Howard fled wide-eyed to the bathroom.

I took a minute to appreciate the softness of the sheets. The fading daylight was filtering in through the curtains, giving the room a peaceful glow. I slowly stood and stretched, enjoying the feeling of being steady on my feet until I noticed the pain in my ribs on the left side. It was a dull ache, but it was definitely there. When I looked down I saw a big purple bruise, horseshoe shaped.

“What the hell…?”

I wrapped a robe around myself and knocked on the door. “You can come out now.” As soon as he walked out I showed him my bruising but not my boobs with some creative fabric movement, “Do you know what this is?”

He nodded slightly and sighed. “I do.”

“Do you care to explain?”


	10. My Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard's tale and a reverse striptease

 

_Howard couldn’t sleep, he never slept anymore. He decided it would be a good night to catch some music and have a drink, maybe that would clear his muddled head. Ronnie Scott’s was clearing out, which made sense since it was 11 O’clock on a Wednesday night. The remaining crowd looked to be the pathetic loner type: he fit in fine. He sat up front and let the music wash over him, it was soothing._

_From behind him there was some arguing and the sound of glass breaking. He turned around and saw a woman facing away from him with long brown hair, well-dressed with tall boots tightly fitting around her shapely calves. She was beautiful, but quite obviously drunk. His heart stopped –_ Lindsay _? Impossible, she was four thousand miles away, cursing his name. He downed the rest of his drink, ‘Maybe that would help with the hallucinations,” he thought. It wasn’t until two shady looking characters walked from the bar and started to help her out that he realized it wasn’t a hallucination. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked them with a slurred but strongly American accent._

_The men were dragging her out the front door by the time his shellshock cleared enough to move from his seat. He pushed the front door open, looking frantically up and down the street but didn’t see anyone. He heard some muffled complaints from the parking lot across from the club. There they were. Howard walked briskly across Frith Street and called out, “Hey, what are you doing with her?”_

_They looked up and told him to bugger off. Howard panicked, knowing he hadn’t been in a fistfight since primary school. It didn’t matter, he had to do something. Without thinking any further, he picked up the pace and slammed his fist into the face of one of the would-be abductors. The man dropped Lindsay on the curb cursing Howard. She made a horrible noise as the wind was knocked out of her, but he didn’t have time to react. The other bloke was on his back while the first one began to pummel him in the ribs and stomach. Spinning around, Howard slammed the man against his own car repeatedly until he lost his grip and the other lost interest. The pair jumped in the car and squealed the tires, screaming obscenities as they rounded the corner._

_Lindsay’s skirt was pushed up around her waist. Howard gingerly pulled it down and tried to help her to her feet. Her legs were mush and she was barely able to stand with assistance. She looked up at him with what might have been recognition and then promptly passed out._

_________

 

I couldn’t even speak. I am not a damsel in distress and I’ve never needed to be rescued before. I was also mortified that he had to cover up my ass in the middle of the street.

“I hope you don’t mind, I rummaged through your purse thinking there had to be a hotel key in there somewhere. I doubted you moved to London to explore your passion for jazz.” He shot me a sideways smile. “I found the key with the hotel name on it, brought you back here and put you in bed.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like he rescued women every day, no biggie.

“Wait, you had no car…” I was slow today, “You carried me back to the hotel?”

He shrugged and nodded. My estimation of his strength was officially revised. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in his chest. “Thank you,” the words came out sounding breathy, “Thank God you were there.”

I squeezed him and he sucked in a sharp breath. Pulling back, I started to unbutton his shirt. He froze and I had memories of the last time we had been together.

“Please? I just want to see if you’re badly hurt.”

His nod was almost imperceptible, but it was permission, so I continued. His collarbone had a huge red mark on the left side, then a scratch across the chest. I noticed smaller lines, white and almost imperceptible under the fresh cuts and bruises, putting that in my memory bank for another time. With each button I discovered more bruises and scrapes. I traced the outline of the darkest bruise. “My hero,” I said, with no trace of irony.

The only sound was the distant echo of a television. My touch lingered on his belly and I couldn’t tell if the heartbeat pulsing in my fingertips was his or mine. Heat radiated from the flat of his stomach and I couldn’t take a deep enough breath. I leaned forward slightly and kissed his chest. A groan escaped his lips and I felt his breath on the top of my head. I couldn’t stop touching his skin. He was slim, but broader across the chest than I thought he would be.

“I want you so much. I don’t want to scare you away, so tell me what happened last time so I don’t do it again,” I said with complete sincerity.

“I had too much time to think, don’t let me think.”

I took his advice and climbed on top of him, pushing him backward so that he was lying on the bed but his feet were on the ground. I whispered in his ear, “Touch me,” his hands caressed my legs, working their way up under my robe. I kissed him slowly and deeply, taking my time. He had let his beard grow out and trimmed the mustache so they blended together. It looked sexy as hell. I kissed my way from his ear down to his jawline and down to his collarbone. I inched down and felt his hands make their way upward, massaging my shoulders and tangling his fingers in my hair.

I got to his belly and started to unbutton the rest of his shirt. Something changed in him. Tension sprang into his muscles and his hands froze.

“No.” I said, “We aren’t doing this.”

“Really, I’m fine,” he said, unconvincingly.

I sat down next to him with a sigh, “Sit up and talk to me.” There had to be a reason for this, it couldn’t just be a case of nerves, right?

His head hung, defeated. “I don’t know how many ways to say it. I can’t be normal about this.”

“Why was it okay when you came to my house the night we… well, on the couch. You know.” I went from confident sexual being to stuttering kid in health class who can’t talk about the naughty bits. His nerves were contagious.

“Firstly, I was still clothed. Secondly, I was in the moment and you surprised me. I can’t really explain it any better.” I didn’t really buy it, but I didn’t press him any further.

“Okay, let’s go get dinner.”

Armed with a cocked head and raised eyebrow, Howard made known to me that he thought I was crazy.

"No, really. I refuse to have sex with you. I feel a bit rape-y when I’m trying to go down on you and you lock up on me. So no more sex, not until you are really ready.”

Shame was plastered all over his face.

“I love you, ya looney berk, yeah?” I said, copying his accent (badly) and he smiled a bit. “I want you perfectly at ease with me, always. Your face says everything you’re thinking, even when you don’t say anything.”

“I beg your pardon. It does not.”

I then did a series of Howard-esque faces. I started with the, “You must be mad!” following up with the “I am pretending everything is alright but it’s clearly not” face and ending with the “I dig this jazzy riff” expression.

“See?” I said, “Every millimeter of eyebrow raise tells a thousand words.”

He laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just because I’m not going to jump your bones, doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to make you jump mine. You may be off limits, but I’m here when you want me.” I explained. “You thought the olive was torture? That was child’s play compared to what you’re going to get from me from here on out.” Deep down I was disappointed I wasn’t getting laid: it had been a long, long time but I wasn’t about to give up.

“Button up. We need to get dressed for dinner.” When I saw he had looked down to fasten his shirt, I dropped the robe at his feet and sauntered to the closet to get clothes.

“My God.” I heard him whisper. Ignoring him entirely, I put each piece of clothing on excruciatingly slowly. When I finished zipping my boots, he was still sitting on the bed with one button completed.

“Slow poke,” I walked toward him and gently closed his gaping mouth. It woke him up from the trance he seemed to be in and I removed myself to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

“You’ve gone wrong!” He called after me. “I can’t even do m’buttons after that show.”

I laughed, imagining how high his eyebrows had climbed.


	11. So Christmas-ey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buying presents, seeing Santa, dancing to carols... Oh! The Feels!

It was a sunny 43 degrees in London two days before Christmas. Howard grudgingly worked, saying he couldn’t really call in sick two days in a row no matter how badly he wanted to since he had volunteered work while everyone else took the holiday week off. I spent the day doing the normal touristy things, Buckingham Palace, museums and the like. I wished the whole time that I wasn’t alone.

 Just ahead was a white brick building with the bottom floor painted a bright reddish orange. _Reckless Records - Sell your Vinyl & CDs to us!_ the door proclaimed. The door opened with a jingle and I was greeted by rows and stacks of albums. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling. There were tables with boxes of records on top of crates of albums. The smell was almost like a library, but… spicier?

Being born in the 80’s I had never seen so much vinyl in one place. I was mostly a cassette tape kind of girl, but I appreciated the cover art and the retro-ness of vinyl. Having no idea what I was really looking for, I perused the jazz section. Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis and Charlie Parker made up a large portion of the ones on display, but if I dug into the crates under the table I didn’t know who any of them were. That seemed like a good start.

“Alan Shorter – Orgasm” was one of the first covers that caught my eye. I had no idea who he was or what kind of jazz he played, but come on (pun totally intended) I thought Howard would dig my sense of humor. After a few more rows of looking at covers just for my amusement, I actually recognized one of them from the night Howard had made me listen to horrible free form horn screeching. This one I hadn’t hated: _Sonny Clark, Cool Struttin_.’ I had a winner.

I took my two albums to the counter and I was met by a chubby hipster type wearing a snap-front shirt, skinny jeans and plastic framed glasses.

“You a jazz collector, miss? You’ve picked two pretty good’ens ‘ere.”

“Did I? Good. They’re actually for my…” Yeah, I guess he was, “My boyfriend. He is into really weird stuff so I hope these two are rare enough.”

“If you’re looking for something really great, take a look at this.” The pudgy man was positively shaking at the opportunity to talk jazz with someone. I would have to introduce him to Howard. Wait…

“Do you know Howard Moon?”

“Howard? Mustache, tall? Yeah I know him. Are you telling me you’re his girlfriend?” He was obviously shocked.

“Yes.”

“But you’re a woman, and a nice looking at that.” He realized he was talking aloud, “I mean, I didn’t know he had a girlfriend," he covered, badly. “Hey if this is for Howard, I know just the thing.” He dug around behind the counter in one of the bins until he pulled out a bubble wrapped box. He opened the box and it contained a bubble wrapped album. It had to be good with this much bubble wrap, right?

“This is a first press, Hank Mobley, Blue Note 1568. Made in 1957 and it’s one of his first recordings! This has a deep groove and the original address on 47 West 63rd street! He’s been drooling over this one for months.”

“I’ll take it.” I said without hesitation.

“It’s pricey.” He peered at me over his big black glasses, looking like a nitwit.

“That’s why God made credit cards. Ring me up.”

 

Howard surprised me by getting off work early and showing up at my room just as I was getting out of the shower. I laughed as I opened the door in my towel.

“How many times are you going to let me be naked in the same room with you before I get to see you without a shirt?”

“As many times as I can possibly get away with.” He was bopping around the room like a child.

“What are you so happy about?”

“Got a surprise for you! Don’t ask because I won’t tell you.” He said crossing his arms and looking well pleased with himself.

“Well then, how should I dress for this surprise?”

“Warmly.”

 

Leicester Park at Christmastime was a wonderland of lights and people. The snow on the ground was pink and purple reflecting the lights from the carnival rides spinning everywhere. Children were running to the grotto to see Santa and lovers were holding hands. We were strolling through the Christmas Market where people were selling anything from football jerseys to hand knitted potholders.

“Howard, this is so… Christmas-ey. It’s perfect.”

“This is the first time I’ve been here. It’s well festive. I usually retreat during the holidays. No one to spend it with, no one to buy gifts for, no real reason to celebrate.”

I pulled him close to me. I knew that feeling well. I was usually invited to some distant relative’s house but I didn’t go. It was depressing knowing that while everyone was gathering their loved ones around them and giving thanks for everything they had, you were… just kind of there.

“Not this year, love. I did buy you a little something. I hope you don’t mind.” Howard said with a glimmer in his eye.

“I found a little trinket for you too, but no peeking until Christmas morning.” Knowing I had to leave two days after Christmas made me a little ill, but I pushed it aside and refused to mope. “This was a wonderful surprise. I really love it.”

“The surprise hasn’t happened quite yet. They don’t start singing until 8 o’clock.” He smiled his adorable crinkle-eyed smile and I let him have his secret for now. We shared a hot cocoa and snuggled on a bench in front of Santa’s grotto and the world was right. Then the world became magnificent when I heard a choir singing.

“Let’s go watch.” He said. Violins and cellos began the first verse of Oh Holy Night and I closed my eyes to tune out all of the lights and people around me.

“This is my favorite.” I said to Howard.

“I know.”

“How could you know that?” I said, and then I heard an unmistakable voice. My head snapped up to look at Howard and he was looking at me with a wide grin. “Oh my goodness! Do you know who that is?” I said, jumping around like a crazy person.

“Merry Christmas,” He smiled down at me. The lead singer of Bastille caroled on while I stared open mouthed at him in awe. _Pinch me,_ I thought, _this can’t be real_. I pulled Howard toward me and made him dance with me in the midst of the crowd, swaying and soaking up the magic.

When the music ended and the crowd began to dwindle, Howard walked me back to the hotel. We were silent, which was strange for us, but it wasn’t for a lack of things to say. There was so much to say, but how to say it? Howard started to get fidgety as we approached the door of the hotel.

“I am going to make this easy on you. I am not letting you come up to my room. Go home and get some sleep and come get me when you wake up.” I stood on my tiptoes and still had to pull him down to kiss his cheek.

“You are beautiful,” he said, still holding my hand.

“Tonight was the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received. Thank you so much.”

Howard leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on my lips, which turned into a lingering kiss, which turned into a full-on snog reminiscent of the Olive Garden parking lot. He pulled away.

“My pleasure.” I’m sure that meant something, but I was breathless and distracted from the kiss and couldn’t remember what exactly he was talking about. “I’ll be here first thing tomorrow,” he said and walked away.


	12. The truth is finally revealed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit just got real - real dark. Angst galore.

By ten o’clock I was fidgeting and irritable. Where was he? I didn’t want to seem terribly needy but he said he’d be here first thing but he wasn’t even answering my texts. It wasn’t until eleven o’clock that my phone rang.

“Hey sleepy head!” I answered enthusiastically before realizing it was the room phone ringing and not my cell.

“Lindsay? Hey, this is Vince. Will you meet me in the lobby of your hotel? I need to come get you. Howard had an accident on the way home last night.”

“What happened?” I said in a panic. It was so bad he couldn’t even call me himself?

"I’ll tell you about it in a few minutes when I get there.”

"Alright, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” I looked around the room and saw the wrapped box in the corner. I grabbed it and hurried out the door.

 

               

Ten minutes later Vince walked through the door. I assumed it was him simply because of his state of agitation.

“Vince?” I asked him.

“Yeah, Vince. I’m glad to meet you in person. Sorry about the circumstances.”

“What happened?”

“Some rat bastards jumped 'im in the tube. Robbery most like, but they roughed 'im up a good bit. 'e’s at the 'ospital now. I didn’t know about it until just this morning when I called you – I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thank you,” I said, wrapping him in a serious bear hug.

He was taken aback but smiled. “Cheers.”

 

 

The emergency room was dead. No one wanted to have any emergencies on Christmas Eve apparently. They let us back to his room where he was lying in the dark. He appeared to be asleep but when we came in he opened one eye and nodded weakly.

Vince hung behind as I reached the bed and kissed his lips. He gave me a sideways smile and grabbed my hand.

“Rough night, babe?” I tried to joke, but my voice cracked.

“I should’ve demanded you take me upstairs. I would’ve preferred to be assaulted by a beautiful woman than the bellends I met last evening.”

“I wish that too. Are you hurt badly?”

“Slight concussion, they said. Mostly cuts and scrapes, but the bastards stole my phone so I couldn’t call you.”

Vince chimed in, “Sorry “ ‘oward, I didn’t have my phone with me.” He turned to me by way of explanation, “I just got ‘ome from a party this morning when I heard the message. I got us ‘ere as fast as I could.”

“I only remembered Vince's number, not yours, but... I guess I should’ve called the hotel,” Howard looked confused and disgusted at himself. Shaking his head, he added, “I’ve a brain injury, you’re legally required to give me a pass.”

I smooched him once more before the nurse came in with his discharge papers.

“Someone will need to stay with you tonight. You can sleep, but you need to be woken every two hours. No driving until you get into see your personal physician next week.” The nurse churned out the discharge instructions in a bored monotone. “You can get dressed now.”

I looked at Howard and then Vince. “I’ll wait outside while you get dressed.” Vince shot me a puzzled look, but accepted his role looking after Howard as he dressed.

I could still hear them inside the room.

“Why am I ‘ere making sure you get your trousers on frontways when your lady is ‘ere?”

“Shut up, Vince. It’s complicated.”

“Are you telling me she flew all the way to bloody London to find you and you’re still playing at this? Just tell 'er already and let her make you all better.”

“I once more challenge you to shut up, you twat.”

“You’re going to regret this ‘oward. ‘ow long is she staying?”

“She leaves Tuesday.”

“You great big tosser.”

Nothing else was said, but at least I had confirmation that it was more than just nerves keeping him from being intimate with me.

 

 

 

We hailed a taxi and Vince split off to do his own thing. The more I got to know him, the more I really liked him.

“How long have you known Vince?” I asked on the ride home.

“Since primary school. I’ve actually known him more than twenty years now.”

“Wow. That’s a long term relationship.” I was impressed.

“Yes, and we fight like an old married couple half of the time. We irritate the piss out of each other.” Howard seemed annoyed with him right now and I knew why.

The taxi parked in front of the flat and I paid him, Howard having been relieved of his wallet the night before. His place was exactly what I expected, but better. There was brown everywhere; mahogany table, taupe chair that looked to be upholstered in corduroy, a couch in a shade of angry-muffin. The exterior walls had exposed bricks and the floors were shiny polished hardwood. The surprising part was all of the instruments hung on the walls as décor.

“Wow, Howard. Do you play all of these?”

“At one time or another.” He said absently, sitting at his laptop cancelling his credit cards.

He didn’t have a Christmas tree, but he did have one large box sitting next to his fireplace. I set my bag beside it and it added a festive element to the brownness.

I left him to his business and walked from piece to piece. I stopped at a beautiful acoustic guitar sitting in a guitar stand in the corner. I picked it up and took it to the couch. I knew he had a headache but I couldn’t help but strum it softly.

“You play?”

“Badly, but I sing reasonably. I thought I could write music if I taught myself to play.”

He sat next to me as I played one of the few songs I could play and sing at the same time.

_Took my love, I took it down. Climbed a mountain and I turned around…_

I missed a chord and smiled up at him. He took the guitar from my hands and picked up where I left off, only much better. I sang the rest of the song and as he finished plucking the last notes I was overcome with a fresh wave of amazement that he was really mine.

“You’re really talented, Howard. You’d better put that guitar down before you get assaulted for the third time this week.” I said, not really joking. I took the guitar back from him and leaned it against the couch.

“You have a beautiful voice. It conveys great emotion.” He said, sincerely complimenting. The apartment was completely silent except for the ticking of a clock.

“Howard, do you remember when you told me about the dream about your grandfather?”

He nodded.

“I think you know what he was telling me. I’m not mad, please believe that. But you’re hiding something from me; something I have to know if we’re going to work.”

He shook his head and snorted. “You heard Vince again, didn’t you?”

I smiled, remembering our first meeting.

“I was trying to be mysterious and whatnot. His voice carries. What can I say?”

“I think he does it on purpose to ruin me.”

“I think he does it on purpose to help you. He’s not such a bad guy. He was worried sick for you this morning, and he was very sweet thinking about coming to get me.”

“I know.” He was having a serious internal struggle. His Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down and his body was tense again. At least this time if he fled, I know he’d have to come back.

“I lied to you about my parents.” He started and took a deep breath. “They aren’t just gone. They’re dead.” He looked up at me but I didn’t speak or move. “My mom was young when she had me; fifteen. My dad was older. I was too young to remember much but I do remember there was always yelling and fighting.”

I could see the concentration in his face trying to recall the details. His shoulders were hunched and his jaw was clenched. I don’t think he even knew his posture changed, but he looked terrified.

“I barely remember my mom. I was four when he…” There was a long pause, and I didn’t think he would be able to continue, but he soldiered on. “He killed her.” The rest of the words spilled out of his mouth like an avalanche: he couldn’t have stopped them if it wanted to.

“They were fighting and he stabbed her, I don’t even know how many times. I was asleep but I came out of my bedroom because I heard the screaming stop. There was always screaming, but it usually turned into crying, and then she would come check on me. This time it just… stopped, and the quiet was scary.”

“Jesus Christ…” He kept going as if I hadn’t spoken at all.

“When I walked into the room he stared me down, walking over to me slowly. When he got to me, he shoved me toward her. I remember that I could see and smell blood and I was afraid of her. I tripped over my own feet trying to stay away from her and it made him angry again. He started to cut me, taking his time, wide cuts all over, not deep ones. He killed her in anger, but cut me for fun, I think.”

I had heard the term “thousand-yard stare” to describe soldiers with PTSD, but I hadn’t seen it up close. It broke me. I wanted so badly to hold him, but I held still: I knew he wasn’t done yet.

“Thank God I was little enough not to remember the entire thing, but I remember enough. It hurt.” He shuddered. “I don’t know what made him stop, but he just… stopped. He stood up and walked out. He came back inside with gasoline and set the house on fire. Well, he set my mother on fire and the house just caught. He never once looked at me again, it was like I wasn’t even there. Then he walked outside and shot himself.”

“Fuck, Howard. What did you do?”

“I don’t remember.” He looked directly at me. “But I have the scars to remind me every day what he did.”

Tears were now pouring down my face.

“I don’t remember much of the hospital, but my grandparents told me the big scars were from the infection I got after. They’re bad, Lindsay. Vince tried to tell me they’re not that bad, but they are.”

“You know I don’t care about that, right?”

“Answer this: If I took my trousers off and you saw huge twisted scars on my leg, would you ask about them? And after I told you the tragic story of my mother’s murder, father’s suicide and my torture would you still be in the mood? I know I’m not.”

I saw his point. He had gotten so close to letting me see, but panicked, twice. I reached out and took his hand.

“I don’t have anything to say that can make that better and I’m not even going to try. It’s awful and I’m sorry it happened to you. I still love you the same way I did earlier today.” I thought for a second. “No, that was a lie. I love you more because you trusted me enough to tell me.”

I leaned in and put my head on his shoulder but he didn’t relax against me. “Will you play for me again? Anything you want.”

Howard picked up the guitar and played something I had never heard, but it was fierce and sad and beautiful all at the same time. I laid down on the couch and watched as tears fell occasionally down his face. I can’t tell you how long he played. The sounds coming off his fingertips lulled me to sleep. When he finally finished I opened my sleepy eyes and held my arms out to him, asking him to lie with me. We snuggled on the couch and slept peacefully.


	13. The end and the beginning

13

The knock on the door nearly sent me flying off the couch. Thankfully, Howard’s arm was wrapped around my waist holding me back. I giggled as he sat up. His hair was sticking straight up on one side. He looked like a sleepy little boy, even though he was well over 6 feet tall. The knocking fist belonged to Vince who was dressed in black skinny jeans, a rolling stones t-shirt and a Santa hat.

“Ho-ho-ho and Merry Christmas!” he bubbled exuberantly as he bounced toward the couch. I couldn’t help but smile at him. Howard didn’t have many friends, but I was glad one of them was Vince. He was armed with a bottle of red wine and knowing Howard shouldn’t drink with a concussion, a bottle of Sunny D.  
“Gee thanks,” Howard said grumpily, which made it even funnier. 

“ ‘ey! I tried. There’s not a lot of stores open on Christmas Eve and I already had the wine! Fresh squeezed juices aren’t in high demand at the corner shop, yeah?”

I was glad Vince came over. He provided some comic relief and a bonus of some background dirt on Howard. I laughed until I wheezed when he told the story of he and Howard “smoking weed” for the first time. Unfortunately they were only 12 and didn’t know weed was a nickname. They were rolling up weeds from the garden in notebook paper and smoking it. 

“I got nothing off it but a sore throat and my mum was mad that I was goin’ through my supplies so fast.” 

He left around one in the morning leaving Howard and I alone. It was awkward for about a minute but I finally said, “This day has been one of the craziest and most emotionally exhausting days of my life. Can we go to sleep?” 

Howard looked relieved. His bedroom was cozy with a large bookshelf and a full-sized bed. I borrowed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts which were huge on me, but I liked wearing his clothes. We curled up together on the bed and talked quietly about small things until we fell asleep. 

 

I woke up Sunday morning to an empty bed and the smell of bacon. Any day that starts with surprise bacon is a good one. In the bathroom, I looked in the mirror and cringed at my matted hair. I figured he hadn’t woken me up so I had time for a quick shower. I washed using his body wash, which was unexpectedly erotic. I smelled all manly and Howard-ish and I liked it.

I stepped out of the shower, put my bra and panties on and was getting ready to put the clothes on from the day before when I saw one of his button-down shirts hanging on the back of the door. I put it on and decided to press my luck in the kitchen.

“Good morning and Merry Christmas!” He called to me, his back was turned and he was busily working at the stove. I leaned up against the fridge with my arms crossed over my chest watching him work. This man was my soul mate, and he cooked. Swoon. I walked up and hugged him from behind, letting my forehead rest against him, knowing that there would be tiny white lines crisscrossing the his skin just under the thin armor of his t-shirt. I sighed at the thought and resolutely pushed them from my mind.

“You’re feeling good this morning?” I asked.

“Oh, a little sore but nothing that’s going to keep me down. It’s Christmas and we have some celebrating to do!” 

He turned to kiss me but when he saw me wearing his white shirt with my blue bra and panties showing through he pursed his lips and sucked in a breath. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself. There’s nothing sexier than a man who cooks for me.” 

I hopped up on the counter to watch him work but he stopped and wedged himself between my legs, kissing me lightly on the lips.

“This is interesting,” I observed. “I’m not used to being taller than you.”

He shrugged and kissed me some more. It was good. I mean, fantastic, breathtaking, astounding and any other synonym you want to throw in there. He kissed me like a man possessed and I couldn’t keep myself from wrapping my legs around his torso. 

“Howard,” I said against his lips, “I think you’re burning the French toast.”

He turned brusquely to the stove, clicked it off and was back in place before I could even laugh at him. “Who needs food, right?” I joked, but he was in no joking mood.

Please,” he breathed against my neck, “I love you.” 

Please, what? I thought. Was he ready now? I had promised Howard and myself that he was in control of when, where and how we made love. He repeated himself, but I refused to answer. Instead, I lifted his shirt over his head and flung it in the sink accidentally. We both smiled at that, but the I couldn’t focus on anything but his kisses and his roving hands. My hands were splayed on his back trying to get him closer to me but that was impossible, any closer and he would be inside me; which I desperately wanted, but we had an agreement.

"Lindsay, oh God, Lindsay,” Howard repeated over and over as he kissed and licked his way down to my breasts, which were still securely held by my bra. Tentatively, he pushed one breast over the top of the cup and my nipple sprung free. He took it in his mouth and sucked on it softly at first, making me moan. Encouraged, he unbuttoned the shirt the rest of the way and unclasped my bra with only a modicum of fumbling. The soft-scratchiness of his beard on my sensitive skin made me cling to him even tighter. Perched on the kitchen counter I was at the perfect height to hold his face down in my chest. He didn’t seem to mind. He ravished each breast with kisses and soft bites. 

“Mmmmm, that’s so good. Don’t stop,” I panted, but he did stop. He stopped just long enough to scoop me up securely onto his hips and carry me toward his bedroom, all the while kissing me with a level of passion I had never felt from him. 

He stopped next to his bed and I slinked down his body.

“Are you sure?” I asked him, fervently praying he would say yes. Instead of speaking he pushed me backward onto the bed. I lifted my hips to assist him in pulling off my panties. When all my clothes were in a messy pile on the floor, he stopped for a minute looking at me with unabashed hunger on his face. I lifted my hands upward, “Come here to me.” I purred.

Instead of lying next to or on top of me, he knelt between my knees at the bottom of the bed and began to kiss his way upward. I wanted him so badly I thought I might die if he didn’t make his way up soon. He kissed and caressed my legs. His hands holding my hips and rubbing small circles on my hipbones, just millimeters from the place I was internally begging him to touch. Instead of continuing up my belly, he lingered between my thighs. He inhaled deeply and looked at me with his heavy-lidded dark brown eyes. His tongue tentatively flicked out and hit just the right spot. My back arched and my hands found their way to his hair. He growled and began to make love to my clitoris with his tongue. Noises and words flew out of my mouth of their own accord. I couldn’t help myself as I bucked against his face. I died an exquisite death and lay as though I were boneless. Howard chuckled from somewhere below.

“Shut up.” I whispered, which only made him laugh again.

“Good?” he said proudly. He had every right to be proud. Damn.

“Shut up, you cunnilingus genius.” He laughed even harder. 

“My new band name. Now taking the stage, Cunnilingus Genius.” He smiled widely. He was certainly enjoying himself.

My body was almost able to move again and I propped myself up on one arm, looking at his beautifully pale, long limbed body sprawled out on the bed.

“I can’t even tell you how much I love you. I have no words.” 

His eyes, his beautifully expressive dark eyes, were serious again. I beckoned him, crooking my finger and winking.

“I have no more words, but I can show you.” 

With that he crawled over me, and in an instant, he was hovering over my face, but then he stopped.

“What?” I asked gently.

“Should I, ah, wash or something?” He motioned to his face.

“Kiss me right now.” I tested and decided there was nothing sexier than my taste on his lips.  
With my blessing, the onslaught of kisses continued. I couldn’t get him close enough to me. I grasped and pulled him so every inch of me was covered with his skin. Frenzied and then slow, desperate and then gentle; it seemed like hours we spent exploring every part of each other with our hands and mouths. Well, not every part. Howard still wore his pajama pants.

I was tracing the outline of his stomach and hips, running my fingers between the waistband of his pants and the soft skin underneath, trying to determine the best course of action. The outline of his erection was happily pressing against the saxophones that dotted his jammies. 

“Howard?” I asked tugging lightly at the waistband. 

He looked at me and took a deep breath. He stood next to the bed and unceremoniously dropped his drawers, snapping back up with his eyes screwed tightly shut. 

The first thing I noticed, being an unabashed fan of penises, was that Howard did not disappoint. His erection was lovely, if a cock can be lovely. He was uncut, and the length of time we had spent in foreplay had left the poor guy red and leaking. 

The second thing I noticed was nearly as impressive. He had been right; his scars were no small thing. I could see small white lines, the same ones that had been on his back and chest, neat and almost invisible. But then there was his right thigh. The scars were shocking. High on the outer aspect of his thigh was a scar; white, twisted and looked muscle-deep, and there were two smaller ones like it down further. I was shocked that they were still so visible after such a long time. My throat closed a little and I felt like I was choking. It took a herculean effort not to cry, but I didn’t want him to think about anything right now except how much I loved him. 

Reaching out my hands to each side of his hips, I pulled him forward to my waiting mouth. Since he was a confirmed cunnilingus genius, I had to prove my fellatio skills right away. I looked up as I kissed the head, tasting his earthy, salty taste. His screwed-shut eyes snapped open and he let out a surprised gasp. His sound rippled through my belly and settled warmly into my nether-regions. I swirled my tongue around and took him in millimeters deeper with each pass. I pulled away before I had gotten halfway down, eliciting a disappointed grunt from the beautiful man attached to the cock. I eagerly dropped my head a little lower to lick and then suck one of his perfectly sized balls into my mouth, gently pull back, and then licked him all the way back to the tip and repeated. 

“Good God.” He whispered.

I went back to my torture by blow job, really getting into the sounds that were flying out of his mouth when he suddenly pulled back, gripping me by the shoulders so that I couldn’t touch him. I recognized the almost-pained look on his face, and his twitching cock gave the final clue. I behaved myself this time, not wanting this to end, ever.

He took me completely by surprise, pushing me roughly backward without hesitation. I realized that he was positioned just right. Slowly, so slowly, he eased himself forward until his head rested against my opening. 

“God, you’re on fire.” He said with surprise. I smiled, enjoying the wonder in his words.

I urged him forward and he filled me, painfully slowly. It took my breath away.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked with concern obvious in his eyes. I couldn’t talk, so I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him as far in as possible. My head rolled back with pleasure and he began to move inside me. 

His eyes were closed and a fine layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. His shoulder muscles bunched and relaxed with each stroke. Small sounds worked their way out of his mouth. It took me a minute before I realized what he was saying. 

“You, only you, forever, always.”

A tear meandered its way down my hairline. My hips rose to meet his and I took his face in both of my hands and kissed him as he continued, faster and faster, until he cried out against my lips. He threw his head back and I felt him tense and still. 

He rested his forehead against my breasts and kissed each one. I stroked his hair as we lay silently. He looked up at me with glassy eyes and said simply, “I love you.”

And just like that, Howard was no longer a virgin.

We lay still for a few minutes.

“Howard,” I said in a strained voice. “I can’t breathe.” 

“Sorry,” he chuckled, as he rolled off me, our sweat-slicked bodies sliding easily apart. “I thought I was dead for a second. Didn’t know if my limbs were still under my power.”

I took the opportunity to sit up and study his body while he regained function of his extremities. His scars had been shocking at first glance, but they would never take precedence over his long toned legs, broad shoulders, the sexy line of hair that ran from belly button downward, the flat planes of his belly that begged to be kissed. No, they were just part of the package, and I loved every square inch of him.

“What?” Howard had opened his eyes and was staring at me with some combination of Nordic Fear and Fear of a Monk. 

“You’re perfect.” I said.

He attempted a derisive snort, but looked pleased anyway. “You know, it’s Christmas morning. Shall we go see if Santa left us any presents?” He requested I put his shirt back on when we left his bedroom, which made me smile. I would save a ton on lingerie.

“Okay, but that means no Christmas pictures.” I said, giddy with endorphins, and skipped out to the living room.

“You go first,” I said, handing him the box I had wrapped. We sat cross legged on a rug in front of the fireplace. He laughed at the Orgasm album and commented on its appropriateness, but when he opened the bubble wrapped album he exclaimed, “What? How did you know about this? This is amazing! This is by far my favorite possession in the world.” His eyes were big and he kissed me with abandon. Thanks Reckless Records guy, I owe you one. It was worth the six months of credit card payments I’d be making when I returned home.

After looking over the minute details of the cover and explaining to me exactly why it was so special and rare (I let him without revealing that I had already been briefed), he declared it was my turn. I was intrigued by the large box he placed in front of me. The large box was stuffed with tissue paper and more boxes. The first one I opened made me laugh out loud. 

“Where did you find this?” I asked, laughing until my stomach hurt. The handle-less mug had a labia shaped opening for warming my hand.

“I started searching the internet for it the first day we spoke. I wanted to know what it felt like,” he joked. “The real thing is better. Softer.”

Perfume, a bottle of expensive whiskey, and lastly, tickets to a concert in Kansas City in February. “I hope I can be your date that night. I already have my ticket to the States.” 

“I’ll be honored.” I said to the very sweet man in front of me smiling sheepishly.

“Lindsay,” he started, “I hate the thought of you leaving on Tuesday. I hate the thought of you ever leaving.” I started to say something, but he raised his hand. “You have changed my life. I mean, really changed me with your kindness and persistent love. Even when you go back, I want to know you’ll always be mine.” His voice wavered and he cleared his throat. He reached behind him and pulled out a small red box from under the couch.

Oh my goodness. 

“I love you.” He said, opening the box, “This was my Gran’s ring. I want you to have it, if you’ll marry me.”

It was gorgeous; white gold with delicately engraved designs surrounding the square diamond seated in the middle. I took a deep breath and totally absorbed the moment. The morning sunlight coming in through the window, the warmth of the fire on my back, the weave of the rug making its imprint on my legs beneath me, but mostly I memorized the man sitting in front of me. His hopeful eyes staring at me, offering to share his life with me. I remembered his whispered declaration from just this morning; You, only you, forever, always. 

I leapt over the boxes and wadded tissue paper in front of me and tackled him. Lying on top of him, crying into the soft cotton of his shirt, I managed to nod my head yes.

“Yes?” He said, sounding surprised.

“Of course, yes!” I said, still sobbing into his shirt like a sappy schmuck.

“It was the vagina mug that was the decider, wasn’t it?” he joked, but his voice was thick with emotion, too.

“Vaginas have swayed decisions for millennia,” I joked with him, “But I want to marry you because you’re the most complicated, kind, funny, talented and beautiful person I’ve ever met and I love you with all my heart.” 

We would figure out specifics later. For now, as we made love on top of crumpled wrapping paper, life was good.


End file.
